


fear like a habit

by jiokra (scatteredmoonlight)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Movie: Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteredmoonlight/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: Finn finds Poe on the Falcon after the Resistance leaves Crait, looking as tired and beaten as Poe feels.





	fear like a habit

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Live And Die by The Avett Brothers

Poe jerked awake six hours after he crashed into a makeshift bed, dead upon arrival once he found a private place to sleep in the maintenance crawl way by the torplex fore deflector shield generator. The solitude and close quarters had drawn Poe in, and at first he hadn’t realized he’d burrowed along the generator, the space colder than he’d anticipated. Upon settling down in the space, BB-8 informed him that he was off to see Rey, so Poe awakened alone, surrounded by a vacuous quiet of every living soul asleep.

At first, he only gazed in subdued bewilderment at the walls lined with pocked metal bars, not recognizing the foreign sights surrounding him at all sides. He frowned at the slight chill under his back from the metal floor and its cold which sank its talons into Poe’s jacket and scratched raw, achy pains into his joints. A reverberation of space travel gave him a temporary, acute nausea. Engines buzzed, the ship shuddering.

He digested the strange novelty, reaching into the muddled clouds of his groggy brain for distant memories he knew he had, an itch in time he ached to scratch. He felt a trundle of realization, and ignorantly he pulled back the wool from his eyes.

Reality pierced him, like icy water crashing onto his head.

The blissful naivety—gone.

It hadn’t all been a terrible nightmare.

 _We are the spark_ , he’d said, though almost the entirety of the Resistance was dead. 

Dead.

_That will light the fire—_

Poe traced his fingers over his mouth, feeling the words on his lips and he finished reciting the memory. He remembered Holdo. His initial trepidation that had never been quelled but fostered into a fraught, mutinous desperation that everything hadn’t been for naught. If only he’d spoken sooner to Holdo, convinced her of his loyalties. Had she extended an olive branch to him, perhaps—

Horror seized his throat, voice raspy as though suffering a horrendous sore throat. “That will tear,” he said, as the visions of escape shuttles exploded into fire and shrapnel blurred the sights of the Falcon before him. But he had to continue. The tragedy, in a twisted fashion, grounded him. He swallowed. “That will tear the First Order down.”

He felt like hurling his guts all over the crawl way. 

Miserable, he paused and listened to his stomach. The raw physicality of depending on his digestive system’s stability centered him. Among all the death and destruction of the past eighteen hours— _Force, has it been eighteen hours?—_ something as simple as feeling like vomiting and hoping he wouldn’t was laughably comforting.

His hand slid back to the cool metal behind him, and he stared at the ceiling without seeing it. Memories no longer marred his vision, and he hadn’t realized he’d buzzed with contentment in the blank, fuzzy nothingness of his thoughtless stupor. 

But once this realization crossed his mind, the other long lost memories seized him. _Those_ memories.

The memories of a leather glove outstretched and paralyzing him, a faceless mask quirked in curiosity as Poe screamed beyond the limits of his lung power, and this faceless mask extracted with effortless skill the secrets that Leia Organa, rebel princess and General of the Resistance, entrusted to Poe above all others. And her son had done it. The son she told Han Solo to bring home.

He discarded that last thought.

He couldn’t think about it.

_We’re doomed. We’re dead. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault—_

He didn’t remember shoving himself up to a stand, but he savored the new sights, sounds, smells, textures as he clamored away from his makeshift bed. His mind blanked out to admiring only what his five senses delivered to him.

He crept through the corridors, steps slow and soft, steadier than he’d ever walked in his life, and avoided looking at anyone sleeping on the floors, hunched up against the walls. Whenever he looked at them, all he could think about was that it should have been his ticket on an escape pod that got him killed.

He hadn’t thought it yesterday, but now it was the only thought rattling away in his skull.

He hated this. Stationary. Flighty without flight. He wanted Black One. A beat up freighter. Anything. Just give him a canon to blow holes into space debris, and Poe would feel whole again.

A lightheaded tug in his stomach urged him to head to the cockpit and sit at Han Solo’s helm. 

_Han._ Barely twenty-four hours ago he’d been wishing Han luck on Starkiller Base.

It didn’t matter.

~*~

He’d just entered the cockpit when the porg flew out from nowhere and crashed onto his shoulder. 

Poe caught the bird on reflex, his already heightened state rendered terrified at the abrupt impact. 

Cradled in his arms, the porg stared at Poe with amber eyes, pupils widening by the nanosecond. He melted at the sight, and the porg burrowed into his arms, turning on its side and curling into the nook of his elbow, face disappearing, and Poe wondered how the little critter managed to breathe. The porg rumbled, and then the purrs came loud and clear. Gingerly so not to awaken it, Poe scratched its head, the purrs morphing into a roar. It couldn’t have weighed any more than a wrench and grease drenched rag, a kaya fruit or two at the most. He still felt the guilt and the deaths on his back, but for the sliver of a moment, just a few seconds with that porg feeling snug and safe enough in Poe’s arms to fall asleep, Poe let himself embrace the quiet and comfort of being alive and whole on the Falcon. Barely a week had past since Kylo Ren tore through his mind, and nearly all his friends were scattered across the stars, but with a porg sleeping and purring, it was easy to forget.

Poe crept to the cockpit, easing himself into a seat. The porg twitched, purrs disrupted by a snore produced from the porg’s new position. Smiling, Poe sucked on his cheek and shook his head. The star glimmered outside the Falcon’s cockpit viewports, an infinite night sky. Poe relaxed in his chair and watched it, absently scratched the head of the porg sleeping in his lap. The stars streamed past, the streaking white lines of hyperspace.

Aboard the _Millennium Falcon._

All who remained of the Resistance fitting on it.

The weight of it pressed down on Poe again, and he rubbed circles behind the porg’s ear and stared hard at the stars, forcing himself to focus on his breath until he wasn’t aware of anything else but the blessed dissonance that always overcame him before sleep pulled him under.

~*~

A chair creaking and groaning snapped Poe out of his dreamless sleep.

Sprung to attention, Poe brandished a fist on reflex, the porg squawking awake and flying off—and saw only Finn sitting beside him. Mortification burned at his cheeks, and Poe scratched his cheek, slouching as the porg sniffled and flew onto the dashboard. It burrowed against the glass, and Poe would have watched it get further acquainted, but a stifled laugh forced him to face the music.

Finn observed him, face stoic and guarded, but mirth sparkled in his eyes.

Poe grinned. “Something funny?”

“ _You_ could say that.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

For a heartbeat, Poe realized hadn’t felt the elation now raising his spirits since BB-8 sputtered out nonsensical binary about Finn being awake, naked, and leaking bacta fluid everywhere. Poe allowed himself to stare at Finn, at his face so good-looking it lowered Poe’s blood pressure. He forced his voice to remain steady as he inquired for the reason Finn arrived at the cockpit.

Finn broke eye contact at that, and Poe startled. He hadn’t realized they’d been staring into each other’s eyes until they weren’t. Flustered, Poe grew cognizant of his hands and wondered what to do with them. Lay them on his lap?

“Rose kissed me,” said Finn, gravely.

Poe’s heart thudded. It felt slower, hardened, as the gravity of Finn’s admission hit him. The crushing weight of the past few hours bared down on him, and with the aching clarity Poe ruminated on Finn’s words, that Rose had kissed him. Poe clung desperately to the grammar of the sentence: Rose kissed Finn, implying Finn hadn’t kissed Rose. Poe felt silly, inane, younger than he was, but he clung to that. Humorously, he said, but didn’t feel the good spirit in himself, “Did she now?” He swallowed, glancing over at Finn. “Can we talk?”

Finn’s brown eyes deepened. “I’d like that.”

“All right.” Poe scooted to the edge of his seat, splaying his legs wide and leaned his elbows down on either knee. “I’m not much in the mood for talking over my feelings, but I, uh—how about I say three truths and one lie?”

The softness in Finn’s gaze bled away. “Pardon?”

Poe dodged the inquiry, switching from looking at the floor and Finn as he spoke. “I miss my ship. I hate being stuck here on the Falcon doing nothing. I’d take shooting cannons at asteroids over this.”

“Flyboy wants to shoot stuff,” remarked Finn, and Poe’s stomach fluttered a little at that. “Obviously that’s a truth.”

“Quiet.” Poe bit his cheek as heat rushed to them. “I called Hux ‘General Hugs.’ “

Finn murmured.

“ _I_ want to kiss you.”

Finn shifted. “You only get one lie. You probably don’t want to waste it on something so obvious.”

Poe felt a little spurred to act. “And for my last admission, I’m a blue beaked amphibious alien from a planet with exclusively lavender skies.”

“And I’m the leader of the First Order,” snapped Finn.

Irritation grated at Poe. He didn’t know how the air has soured so quickly between them. “Are you sure you want to blow your lie away so quickly?”

“You’re the one that wanted to play this game.”

Teeth gritting, Poe said, “So did you kiss Rose, or not?”

“What do you mean, ‘Did I kiss Rose’? I told you. It happened on Crait.”

Poe’s stomach churned, nauseated, and the lack of sleep over the past few days started hitting him in waves, mind growing fuzzy but working fast all the while. When had Finn the opportunity to kiss her then? “Well—congratulations. Love’s hard to come by these days.”

He dropped his head into his heads, bending until he could smell the salt and grease in his pants. “Truth,” whispered Poe. In the dead silence of the cockpit, his rough voice came clear. “I’m sorry for everything I just said.”

“Poe...” Finn’s voice was so tender.

“Truth: I’m—I’m scared. I don’t think we can win this one.”

Metal creaked, leather stretched. Hands slid over Poe’s wrists, a nail scratching over the shell of his ear and through a stray oily curl. Poe looked up, and his heart quenched. Finn crouched before him, his sad brown eyes so close that Poe could see gentle amber flecks as lights from the cockpit accented them. He always felt this little tug looking at Finn. He reckoned he felt it on the Finalizer too, without realizing it. Something about those sad eyes with Finn’s ridiculous big heart made Poe feel like he held something fragile and precious in his palms.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” said Finn.

“I can’t?”

“Not when I’m thinking the same thing all the time, and even if I don’t believe you, I really need to hear your endless optimism.”

Poe couldn’t help but smile. “People have told me to shut up, or just shot me with a blaster before I opened my mouth, but... did you just _encourage_ me to talk more?”

Finn’s brows crinkled, his eyes growing darker. “Unfortunately, that is a truth.”

He went through everything Finn said, his good humor zapped again. “Even the part about not believing me?”

Finn turned away. Unabashed, Poe watched the minute changes in his facial features. A worrying lip, a thick swallow, a deepening of his gaze. “I don’t deserve to wear this jacket. _Truth._ ”

Poe sucked in a breath to retort, but Finn lightly squeezed his wrists. But he had to do _something_ , so he slipped a wrist out of Finn’s hold and grasped his hand, twining their fingers together.

“I didn’t want to join the Resistance. I don’t even know why I—why I saved you. It seemed like the right thing at the time. Rey didn’t have to face Snoke. She didn’t have to face Kylo Ren. She could still be living peacefully on Jakku if I’d never run into her in Niima Outpost. If I hadn’t—if I hadn’t babied Slip, maybe he would have learned how to _run_ without _falling_ all the time.”

Poe traced a thumb over the back of Finn’s hand. 

“You said I’m a _good man_ , but I’m not. I’m a coward who runs at the first sight of danger. My master plan of action gets people killed. I can’t even destroy a canon.” Finn then squeezed Poe’s hand so tight it hurt, his knuckled bunched against Finn’s, but it felt good—it felt like living. “Truth: I really like holding your hand.”

Startled by the nonchalance, Poe barked out in laughter. Finn flinched, moving to tug away his hand, but Poe not only kept the hold but pulled Finn toward him until they embraced. With Poe still sitting and Finn crouched before him, his back ached and Finn could barely returned the hold. Poe held the back of his hand and touched cheek to cheek, whispering into his ear, “Finn...”

“Yeah?”

He wanted to say, _You’re beautiful._ But Finn had kissed Rose. It wasn’t his place. “You’re terrible at this game. I’m supposed to guess which ones are the truth and which one is the lie.”

“All right,” said Finn, considering. “I kissed Rose. How about that? Better.” Soon Finn pulled away. With him, the warmth disappeared. “Did you find anywhere comfortable to sleep?”

“ ‘Comfortable,’ no. ‘Anywhere,’ yes. A walkway right next to the shield generator.”

Finn’s mouth quirked, the angle neither turned toward a smile nor a frown. “I better head back,” he said. “Rose might...”

 _Awaken_. An intricate knot tightened in him. It hadn’t been that long ago since Poe had been eager to rush to Finn’s bedside, hoping he’d be there when Finn woke up. He had it all planned out: The sewed up jacket, a haunting though poetic reccount of Starkiller Base, a throughout debrief of Rey's whereabouts with maybe even a personalized holographic message from Rey herself. But none of that had happened, not as Poe had planned it, at least. 

Finn would finally have that reunion for the ages. But not with Poe.

Poe scratched roughly at his scalp. He’d contemplated for too long. “Try to get some rest,” he said, avoiding Finn’s warm gaze at all costs. “It’s been a long week.”

~*~

A little pressure on his shoulder urged Poe’s out of his dreamless slumber. He slipped his jacket off his face, a little mask to hide his eyes from the blinking light that went off not long after he returned to the walkway. First thing he saw being rid of the curtain of darkness was Finn crouching over him — a sleepy-eyed Finn deprived of a good night’s rest, rumpled and seeming sad over being awake, waking Poe up by bracing over him.

Poe wouldn’t be opposed to getting used to this.

“Hey, bud—” A yawn cut Poe off, and he slapped a hand over his mouth before Finn got a whiff of however Poe’s breath smelled right then. Rubbing his eyes, he said, “Trying again, now: Hey, buddy. What brings you ‘round these parts?”

Finn’s thumb worked a line over a grove in Poe’s jacket. He’d never removed his hand. Poe’s shoulder burned. “Couldn’t sleep,” said Finn.

Poe murmured.

“Can I... Is it okay if I—?”

Finn looked over at the little space beside Poe, a tight squeeze between him and the wall. Poe smiled. “Come on, buddy. There’s room.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [tumblr post](https://scatteredmoonlightt.tumblr.com/post/186613179972/fear-like-a-habit-angst-ao3-finn-finds-poe) :)


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